A DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BEDCHAMBER.' WHERE the Red Lion, staring o'er the way, Invites each passing stranger that can pay; Where Calvert's butt, and Parson's black cham pagne, Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane; The morn was cold; he views with keen desire With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd, 1 These lines first appeared in the Citizen of the World, vol. i. lett. xxix. H SONG. INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF 'SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. "1 Ан me! when shall I marry me? Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me. Not a look, not a smile shall my passion discover. 1 Sir, I send you a small production of the late Dr. Goldsmith, which has never been published, and which might perhaps have been totally lost, had I not secured it. He intended it as a song in the character of Miss Hardcastle, in his admirable comedy of She Stoops to Conquer;' but it was left out, as Mrs. Bulkley, who played the part, did not sing. He sung it himself in private companies very agreeably. The tune is a pretty Irish air, called The Humours of Balamagairy,' to which he told me he found it very difficult to adapt words; but he has succeeded very happily in these few lines. As I could sing the tune, and was fond of them, he was so good as to give me them, about a year ago, just as I was leaving London, and bidding him adieu for that season, little apprehending that it was a last farewell. I preserve this little relic, in his own handwriting, with an affectionate care. I am, Sir, Your humble Servant, JAMES BOSWELL. STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC. AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys, Which triumph forces from the patriot heart, Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice, And quells the raptures which from pleasures start. O Wolfe! to thee a streaming flood of woe, Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear: Quebec in vain shall teach our breast to glow, Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear. Alive the foe thy dreadful vigour fled, And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes: Yet they shall know thou conquerest, tho' dead! Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise. EPITAPH ON DR. PARNELL. THIS tomb inscrib'd to gentle1 Parnell's name, The transitory breath of fame below: EPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDON.2 HERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed, He led such a damnable life in this world, 1. With softest manners, gentlest arts adorn'd.' Pope on Parnell. 2 This gentleman was educated at Trinity College, Dublin; but, having wasted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot soldier. Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his discharge, and became a scribbler in the newspapers. He translated Voltaire's HENRIADE. AN ELEGY ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE.1 GOOD people all, with one accord, The needy seldom pass'd her door, She strove the neighbourhood to please, At church, in silks and satins new, Her love was sought, I do aver, 1 See The Bee, p. 128. |